Complicated
by wondertross
Summary: Relationships are hard, and Max is playing both sides of the field. Some major angst here. M/L/A
1. Default Chapter

Title: Complicated  
Author's Note: I'm thinking of making this into a longer M/A story, but I'm not sure yet. Have fun reading, and don't forget to review!!!  
Disclaimer: Um, yeah.  
  
~*~  
It's raining. Lightning rips through the sky beyond the broken window of this broken down building. Thunder soon follows, and the structure trembles, small pieces of rubble shaking loose from the disintegrating frame. The moisture drips down the remaining shards of glass in the windows, like little rivers floating atop ice. Some of it rolls right on by, while the rest of it pools in a small puddle beneath the sill. The paint peels, bubbling away from the walls and leaving ancient, rotting boards exposed for all to see. There's no TV, not for lack of wanting, but lack of electricity.  
  
So you want to know what I'm doing right now? I'm sitting in my living room, in the dark, watching the rain on the fifth floor of an abandoned apartment building in TC. TC, Terminal City, home for freaks and freaks alike. That's me, resident freak. I know I could have one of my guys hook up a generator for me, but why should I have such a luxury others may really need. Hell, I'm one of the lucky ones. I got my own place, even if it is falling down around my ears.  
  
God help me, if there is a God, but I don't even hate this place. Every day that passes it feels more like home. Home. Huh, never thought I'd say that without laughing. Even this couch feels right, like home. Never mind the mildew or the dust that springs forth whenever I sit down, or even the busted spring ready to nail anyone unsuspecting in the back. Nope, I actually kind of like this rag tag, shredded, weathered couch, placed squarely in the middle of this bare room, with its bare walls, facing the small fireplace.  
  
Shadows flicker off the walls, cast off by both the lightning and the bonfires on the streets below. There's a soft knock at my door. Completely unnecessary mind you, as I had heard her coming up the stairs long beforehand. Besides, I had seen them today, pensive and quiet. I don't even know why she bothers, since she never waits long enough for me to answer it. She just comes in. The rusted out hinges creak as the door swings inward, and then she's framed in the doorway for a brief second remaining gloriously still as I drink her in out of the corner of my eye. She's standing, one leg ramrod straight, the other bent, hip cocked out.  
  
Then she moves, casting dark gloves upon my table, kicking the door shut behind her. She moves in my direction. Well, slides really, hips swaying back and forth in some hypnotic rhythm and I never look up, because if I do I just may say "no" for the first time.   
  
The rational half of my brain tells me "no" would be a damned smart thing to say, far smarter than this uncharacteristic silence thus consuming me. But I never look up, because the rational half of my head can never scream loud enough to be heard. Maybe if I didn't see her silhouetted in the doorway, maybe if I weren't such a fucking fool I could say that stupid word. She strides behind the couch, running her fingers over the along the fabric, then over my neck, my barcode and now I couldn't say no even if I actually still wanted to.   
  
It's a sick, twisted little game we play and I can't even lay it all on her since I am a willing participant. This much I do realize. I'm a sucker for this game. She knows she can always find me here at night, whenever her strange on-again, off-again, we're-not-like-that relationship goes south for a few days. I guess this is one of those off again times.  
  
These are the moments I wait for, the ones where she comes and we head back into my bedroom. Of course in my dreams I'm not the second choice, the replacement for what she can't have. These moments are precious, fleeting, because after tonight, or possibly tomorrow night she'll go back, and then they'll be on again, and I'll be alone, waiting. And if I were as smart as everyone seems to think then I could say that this is the "last time" and actually mean it. But it's not true, they're just words. Because these are the moments I can fool myself into believing that she wants me like I want her.  
  
I could make it easier, I suppose. I could just leave and never look back. Things unfortunately are never that simple and I'm not quite that deluded. I can't leave, because she feels like home too. I think maybe I'm just a little masochistic.  
  
And now I'm kissing her, tasting her, running my fingers through the tendrils of her hair and tugging at her jacket. Her hair is wet from the rain, and beads run down her throat. She tastes like vanilla. "Max," I breathe. It's the only word I ever speak, as she silences me with a deep, insistent kiss. I try to make myself believe that it doesn't matter that she never utters my name, the name she gave me, like it's something silly, like I don't care.  
  
Her hands are at my chest, pushing me back toward the bed and we haven't spoken once since she came. I know she always comes here looking for something, some answer to an unasked question that has nothing to do with sex, but she can never seem to actually form the words. So she settles for being touched, for feeling, and I am more than willing to oblige and make her happy for a time. But it's just for a time, because I can see the pain and guilt in her eyes when she's near him the next day. I see the way she actively avoids me, I feel that void. And it's because she can't apologize for things she shouldn't have done. She can't apologize to him for me. And I watch, hurt, and wait for the next night, the next off-again. We both know she'll come too, and feel the same guilt all over again. Okay, so maybe we're both a little masochistic. 


	2. 2

Chapter 2  
Author's Note: Okay, these first few chapters are going to be rather short, dealing with each character's perspective of the situation. I hope I don't disappoint. Eventually I think I'll get to a point, a plot even.   
Disclaimer: I wouldn't have cancelled it had I owned it you silly person.  
  
~*~  
  
Mac pulled her shirt on over her head, and pulled her hair out from beneath her collar. She sat on the edge of the bed, legs hanging down past the linens her feet resting firmly on the decaying timbers. She reached down to tug at her boots. Once finished she sat up, staring blankly at the wall for a few moments. Alec still lay asleep, his head cocked over to the right, his left arm resting over his stomach and his right hand stretched out behind his head, cradling the empty space beside him.  
  
Terminal City lay just outside these walls. And out there lay a nation looking to her, expecting answers, expecting promises she dared not give. She was just another freak, but not just another freak. Outside these walls lay a guilt, a dirty secret from the man who loved her, and who she loved. Her guilt, her life couldn't touch her here.   
  
Max let her hands fall to rest just above her knees, her shoulders slumped forward, dark eyes peaceful but saddened. She wished it could be another way. She wished for many things. She wished that she could stay, pressed up close to him and forget about everything, but she couldn't. She wished everything could be peaceful, easy, but life had never been easy. Why should it change now?  
  
This place and its inhabitant had become, somehow without her knowing, her own little private hideaway. No one could touch her here, it was a fortress, but only in the dark. In the dark, in the night, she could lose herself, let go. But in the daylight it was just some crappy apartment, some ramshackle, dilapidated building. In the light the man lying next to her wasn't the one she had been envisioning for two years. So she had to leave before the light touched it, before the daylight shattered her fantasy, her hideaway.  
  
Max turned her head back to the sleeping man wrapped among the bed sheets. He looked so innocent when he slept, so young. There was no smirk, no smart-assed reply, none of the abrasive quality that so irked her most of the time. She didn't know exactly what this was to him. A good time? Sex? Something more? She hoped dearly that it was just sex, nothing important, nothing that meant anything to him. She wouldn't know how to deal if it were anything more than sex to him, because she honestly didn't want to hurt him.  
  
That was another reason she left, so he couldn't wake and ask her to stay. If he asked, she might just say yes, and that thought scared her just as much as any other. She didn't know why she came over and over. She just felt safe here, content. Alec never yelled, never asked her for anything, didn't expect anything. He was just…there.  
  
And in his apartment Alec made everything exactly what it wasn't outside, easy. Outside was hard. All eyes were on her, Eyes Only was on her. And she loved him, she knew she did. He was all she had wanted for two years. Funny thing was, she barely remembered why anymore. Why he hadn't been like every other heist. The why wasn't even important to her anymore, it just was. She needed him. SO then why did she come? The thought bounced around in her head. She half wanted Alec to ask her why she came, because maybe if he asked she could explain it. Because sitting alone in the silence, in the dark, there were no words. But she never asked, for the answer scared her. And she cursed herself a coward every night and every day. She wanted to know why something so right should be so hard. She wanted to understand the virus, the reason for it. But the dark held no answers, just the promise of no questions.  
  
Alec watched Max pull on her boots through slitted eyes. He never twitched, his breathing steady and rhythmical. He hadn't been asleep for a while, no since she'd first moved away from him. It was always like this, her leaving early, before the sun rose. And him, watching her while pretending to be asleep. He always had to fight the urge to sit up and ask her to stay. If he did, she would have to answer, and the answer he was sure she would give would send him hurtling back to reality very quickly. If she wanted to stay she could, but he wouldn't ask.  
  
Max stood slowly, moving quietly for the door. Alec could see her out the corner of his eye, as she paused near the head of the bed. He could feel her, smell her. She reached out to him, her hand pausing just above his cheek, hovering. Then she pulled away. He listened to her leave, closing the door behind her. He sat up then, running his hands through his hair. Their morning meeting was in an hour. He'd be late, just like always, just to ensure himself the barest recognition of his presence.   
  
Max hurried down the stairs from Alec's apartment, fleeing quickly back to her own apartment. The sun was breaking over the horizon, lit a hundred different colors. She turned the corner and stilled, a weight pressing down on her chest. She'd done it again, run from something real. And deep down she knew it wouldn't even be the last time. The last time was something distant, something dim, something beyond the dawn. 


End file.
